


This Ain't Pretty Woman, Sam

by nameloc_ar_115



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Guilty Dean, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8314480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameloc_ar_115/pseuds/nameloc_ar_115
Summary: He can’t help but feel selfish for wanting it, for wanting every single piece of Dean.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Talk about showing up twelve years late to the party...

                Dean helped raise him, even when he was still a child himself. Dean went to Hell for him, unable to accept being alive while his little brother wasn’t. Dean would do anything for him, but Sam wants the only thing Dean won’t give him.

                He can’t help but feel selfish for wanting it, for wanting every single piece of Dean. Dean’s a glutton, perhaps the _easiest_ lay when he’s really in the mood, but his brother never actually asks for anything he _needs._ Whether it be a soul-deep desire, a cure, a source of comfort.

                He’s the big brother. He’s not wired that way.

                That’s usually why Sam never argues when Dean turns him down. His big brother givesgivesgives, and he should be allowed a few reservations, some harmless privacies. Honestly, Sam would let it go if he thought Dean just didn’t _want it_ or _like it._ But, sometimes, man, Dean’ll look at him, starved and frightened, and Sam is certain down to the marrow of his bones that his brother’s yearning for the one thing that he keeps saying “no” to.

                But Dean won’t admit it. Sam always has to fight tooth and nail to get his brother to share what’s really eating him up inside.

                So, this time, when they’re rubbing together, clothes in disarray, loosened belt buckles clinking together, Sam picks a fight. Because he wants it out there, the truth, one way or the other.

                He leans down slowly, giving Dean enough time to recognize his intentions. He doesn’t want their first kiss to be an ambush or a manipulation. He won’t _take_ this from Dean; he needs his brother to offer it willingly, to want it as much as he does.

                Dean turns his face away at the last moment, just like Sam expects him to. Sam hovers above his brother, sitting back on Dean’s bony hips, considering the smooth expressionlessness of his brother’s face. Shutting down.

                “Why not, Dean?” he whispers, dragging his nose along the ridge of Dean’s cheekbone. He plants a kiss on the side of his brother’s neck, and Dean flinches, pushing him away, shuffling out from under his body.

                “ _Don’t,_ Sam. I’ve told you before. We’re not doing that.” Dean’s huffing, eyes wild and darting like a caged animal's. He rights his askew flannel and re-buckles his belt, and Sam knows that fucking around is no longer on the table tonight despite the solid line of cock pressing against the front of Dean’s jeans.

                “We need to talk about this,” he insists softly, sincerely, sitting on the edge of the bed.

                “We _don’t_ ,” Dean snaps, tugging on his boots, ready to flee. His big brother will run head-on into a fight with any manner of creepy-crawlies, but when it comes to messy, tangled emotions, _feelings_ , Dean turns tail at the first opportunity. Avoid and evade.  

                Sam begins, “It’s okay, Dean—”

                Dean pulls the laces of his boots with sharp, vicious jerks and knots them, nostrils flaring and lips starting to curl back from his teeth with anger. “Let’s get this straight right now, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is deadly even and grave, slicing through the air as he stands. “I’m not your fucking girlfriend. And we—we are not a couple.” His brother grabs his coat off the hook and slams the door on his way out.

* * *

                Sam wakes up at three a.m. to an absolutely sloshed Dean trying to navigate the dark motel room. His brother spends a good thirty seconds jamming and grating the room key into the lock, trying to wrench the door open, and apparently, off its hinges. That’s before he kicks his boots off, sending them into the wall with a booming _thud_. Sam really has no other option but consciousness.

                He releases his death-grip on the knife under his pillow—just in case—and exhales.  

                “Sammy, you awake?” His brother calls, stage whispering.

                Sam rubs a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, and sprawls onto his back. “Yeah, Dean, ’m awake.”

                “Awesome.” Dean flings his overshirt across the room and stumbles out of his jeans, giggling and nearly braining himself on the nightstand between their beds.

                “Jesus, Dean.” Sam props himself up on one elbow and pushes the hair out of his face. He doesn’t mind taking care of Dean, even cleaning up his messes—God knows Dean’s done it for him his entire life. It’s the fact that Dean would rather drown his pain in whiskey than talk to him, when Sam _knows_ he could help. If Dean would just _let_ him.

                His big brother unceremoniously flings back the covers on Sam’s bed and worms in between them and the sheets. “Chilly outside. Warm me up, Sammy.” Dean huddles close and presses his cold-tipped nose into Sam’s throat, clinging tight and weaving their legs together.

                Dean’s clawing at the front of Sam’s shirt, nearly strangling him with the collar until he grabs Dean’s wrists. “What d’you want?”

                “’m cold,” Dean gripes and sniffs, his freed hands automatically slithering under Sam’s shirt, rough palms absorbing heat from Sam’s bare chest, rasping across his hardening nipples. Sam shivers from his brother’s icy hands but acclimates after a few seconds.

                He doesn’t know what to do, but in the meantime, it seems logical to seal the covers back around their shoulders and maintain the pocket of warmth beneath the blankets.

                “Better,” Dean moans, and yeah, Sam’s kinda horny from hearing that pleasure-soaked voice from his brother when the lush is tucked solid and core-hot against him, unaware and unworried about his half-hard cock nudging Sam’s thigh. He ignores the responding throb of his own dick, smells the cigarette smoke and grease from the bar in Dean’s hair and t-shirt. He’s just relieved his brother’s whole and here, that at least Dean’s subconscious knows who to trust and seek out for protection.

                Dean’s breathing evens, and he stills, and Sam’s sure his brother’s fallen asleep when Dean mumbles, “Don’t be mad at me, Sammy. ’m sorry.”

                “Hey. _Hey_.” Sam catches Dean’s chin and then his hazy, teary eyes. “I’m not mad. Go to sleep.” He combs Dean’s fallen bangs away from his forehead and holds him. “It’s alright.”

                Dean burrows against him, trying to get impossibly closer. “Okay. Okay, Sammy. Thanks.”

                He’s out like a light after that. Sam doesn’t sleep for another minute that night.

* * *

                They don’t talk about it for a few weeks, and it’s hard to hold onto a fight when they constantly rely on one another to save other people’s asses as well as their own. It’s easy to fall back into routine. Hunts and hours in the Impala and needy fucks in their motel room.

                But Sam hasn’t forgotten, and he can’t let it go. He just _can’t_. The possibilities are gnawing away at him. He feels like an apple that’s gone to the worms: a pristine exterior, the inside full of rot and hollows.

                Dean’s heavy and warm between his thighs, grinding their clothed cocks together while Sam fondles his round ass. His big brother’s sucking at his pulse, teasing the thin skin between his teeth, nipping. Between his hair and shirt collar, Sam hopes he can cover the mark, but he’s not overly concerned, not when his cock’s fit to burst.

                Clearly, he’s a masochist because he decides now is the best time to bring up one of the only things that will derail Dean’s interest in sex.

                “You’re hurting me, Dean.” Sam pants out the words.

                His brother pops off his neck immediately, tilting Sam’s neck up and to the side, inspecting. “Shit, Sammy. Didn’t think I was chompin’ on ya that hard. You okay?”

                “That’s not what I mean.”

                The corners of Dean’s lips fall, and his features pinch with concern, with wariness. “Sam?”

                “You used to kiss all your girls. Your flings and your one-night stands. So it must just be me, right?” Dean’s head falls to his own chest, like all the life’s been drained out of him, and he crawls off Sam. He doesn’t leave, which is a good start, but Dean scoots to the side of the bed and leaves his back to Sam. “We fuck a lot, Dean.” Sam swallows against the rising wave of insecurity and heartache. “Seems like you enjoy it. Is it me? Are you ashamed of me—or-or disgusted?”

                Dean’s a flash of movement, kneeling between Sam’s legs, cradling Sam’s face with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “No, Sammy. God, no. Not you.” He moves away just as fast, pacing along the end of the bed.

                “Then what is it, Dean?”

                “It’s this,” his brother hisses. “This _thing_ between us.” Dean hiccups a breath, his mouth snapping shut, the muscles in his jaw flexing and twitching. A tear skips down each of his cheeks before he can cover his face with his hand.

                “Dean…” Sam can survive, if Dean ends it right now. He can make it out the other side; he knows that. But he’d be far from unscathed. Alive, but probably irreparable.

                “You’re my baby brother,” Dean croaks. “I’m supposed to watch out for you. And instead…” His brother’s voice breaks on a quavering inhale. “The things I do to you, Sammy. The things I want you to do to me.” He shakes his head, face scrunching in agony, and braces his arms on the back of the nearby chair.   

                 Sam wants to go to him, hold him until Dean understands that he’s never letting go, no matter what. But his brother’s shaking with bitten-back sobs, and Sam knows how much Dean hates when people see him cry.

                “That’s all this is? Guilt?” Sam’s smile is pained and teary. His brother is such a stupid fucking martyr.

                “It’s fucked-up, Sammy. I held off for as many years as I could, but this-this _want,_ ” Even from behind, Sam can tell that Dean’s grasping his shirt right over his heart, fist white-knuckled like he’s desperate to rip something out of himself, “didn’t go away. But-but I’m not blind. I know what this is and what it isn’t.” Dean turns around, chest heaving as he gulps down air and saltwater.

                “Dean.” Sam murmurs, afraid to spook his brother and drive him away. “Dean, a kiss won’t change anything. Refusing to kiss me won’t make this any less real.”            

                “I can’t do it.”  

                He stands and edges closer to his brother. Dean’s trapped by the table behind him, and he shifts his stance restlessly from one foot to the other while he leans. “We’ve put our entire lives on hold, Dean, to save other people. We’ve sacrificed _everything_ , more than a few times. So, we can have this,” Sam asserts, walking into the spread of Dean’s thighs, “We’re not hurting anyone.”

                Another set of teardrops skate down Dean’s face, disappearing with brusque wipes of his thumb and middle finger. “You have to see how wrong this is, Sammy.”

                “I don’t.” He shrugs, nothing else to offer. “We’re consenting adults. I love you. You love me?” Sam ducks his head until his eyes hook Dean’s, shining and crystalline, so beautiful.

                Dean claps a hand to Sam’s biceps, gripping and kneading the muscle with his fingers. It’s a good ache, all things considered; it’s reassuring. “’Course I do, Sammy. I’ve always loved you.”                  

                He grabs Dean’s hips, palms fitting around the bony crests, and drops their foreheads together. “You want this, Dean. I know you do.”

                “Yes,” his brother whimpers, lips trembling.

                Sam gathers Dean in his arms, his brother’s wet face hidden in Sam’s neck, iron-strong arms wrapping so tightly around Sam it _hurts._ He doesn’t utter a word of objection.

                He urges Dean over to the closest bed, which happens to be “Sam’s.” They share one more often than not, but appearances’ sake always has them renting twin bedrooms. He peels his brother naked, layer by frustrating layer until he’s left with smooth, pale skin.

                “Sammy, your clothes,” Dean protests, tugging at Sam’s plaid button-down.

                “Later,” he whispers, trailing hands over Dean’s quivering body. His brother’s wound tight, tense and flexed all over. He’s scared, but he’ll never confess to that either. “It’s just a kiss, Dean. I kiss you all time. Here.” Sam’s mouth finds the hinge of Dean’s jaw, finds that spot that always makes his brother pant a little bit harder. “Here.” Dean squirms under the kisses to both of his peaked nipples, writhes when Sam’s lips move to each inner thigh. His brother silences himself by lodging his teeth into his lower lip—that sweet prize Sam is building up to, the seductive, red cherry on top.

                Sam knows how the ragged cotton, worn denim of his clothes lights up Dean’s neurons, sparking sensation in a ripple across his sensitive bare skin. “I know you love it when I kiss you here,” Sam mumbles, hot, moist breath spilling over Dean’s crotch.  

                “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Dean cries out, strangled and reedy, when Sam kisses the head of his cock and starts a wet, mouthing trail down his brother’s length, over his balls and perineum.

                Sam can’t stop himself from licking his lips as he thumbs over Dean’s dusty-pink hole before diving in, kissing hard and deep, thrusting with his tongue. His brother moans, a hand sinking into Sam’s long hair, and Dean’s pleading. “Sammy, kiss me. Please kiss me.”

                He straddles Dean’s waist and pins his brother’s arms over his head, into the soft embrace of the pillow. Sam’s slow and gentle in his movements. It’s what they both need tonight.

                Sam traces a fingertip over the swell of Dean’s bottom lip and bends down, pressing their mouths together. It’s chaste and dry and warm. And if Dean doesn’t have the sweetest goddamn mouth, he doesn’t know who does. A soft groan from Dean vibrates against his lips, and Sam smiles, dips his tongue into the seam of his brother’s mouth.

                Dean opens for him instantly, a heady experience, and then their tongues are flicking together, nice and easy. His brother can’t stay quiet, releasing these broken, wanton little whines and sighs, and Sam’s hard as a brick.

                He drops a hand between their tight-pressed bodies, scratching through wiry, golden curls before giving Dean’s cock a stroke. “Just think, Dean. About tasting yourself on my mouth. Those nights when I like to wind you up, eating you out for hours.” His brother’s dick jerks in his hand, precome slicking Sam’s palm. “I’ll be able to taste my come, warm and thick in your mouth, after you suck me.”

                “Just— _Christ,_ Sam,” Dean chokes out, curling his fingers around Sam’s nape and wrenching him down, crushing their mouths together. Deep, devouring kisses that show Sam why the girls can never resist Dean.

                His brother’s hips fuck into his hand, powerful and insistent, and when Dean traps Sam’s lip between his teeth with a throaty hum, Sam knows he’s close. He prods the sensitive underside of Dean’s cock, right below the head, with his thumb and runs the pad through Dean’s leaking slit.

                His brother groans and arches bodily, fingers and toes curling, come spraying Sam’s fist and Dean’s belly. Dean’s panting humid breaths against his mouth, administering kitten licks and nibbles to Sam’s lips while he comes down from his orgasm. “Jesus, Sammy.”

                “It’s good, yeah?” Sam grins and bumps their noses, pressing in for another soft, wet slide of lips. He has a lot of lost time to make up for, and with a mouth like Dean’s, he imagines it’ll be quite a while before the novelty of kissing his brother wears off.

                Dean chuckles and looks up at him, tucking some loose hair behind Sam’s ear. It’s a losing battle, they both know it, but it’s more about the affection behind the gesture than the efficiency, “I just blew my load like Old Faithful, Sammy. ‘Good’ is about a thousand miles back.”

                Sam considers the splatter of come decorating his brother’s stomach and smirks. He swipes a finger through the mess and sucks it into his mouth. Dean’s eyes widen, tongue swirling around his parted lips, wetting them. They both know what’s coming next.


End file.
